


Let Me Fix It

by Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Light Angst, Romance, Sherlolly Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5045755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based of the short prompt, "come here, let me fix it." Sherlock uses Molly's flat as a bolt hole for the first time after his return from exile. Some things from the past are brought to the surface and feelings must be dealt with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Fix It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saffysmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffysmom/gifts).



> I wish this is what could happen lol! Thanks for the prompt, Saffysmom! ;)

Molly crept out into the kitchen after two in the morning, hearing the familiar foot steps and rummaging in her cupboards. But it was difficult to believe it was really him. She had begun to think this wasn't one of Sherlock's little hideouts anymore. Which would have been fine...or so she kept telling herself.

"Are you ok?" she whispered, making Sherlock turn to face her in the darkness.

He turned around again and continued looking in one of her cupboards as he answered. "Fine. Just a brief stop. You can go back to bed. Your shift starts at eight in the morning."

Sleep was not a viable option, she knew that. There was no point in going back to her room and pretending as if she'd be getting any actual rest. "Are you um, looking for something?" she asked, seeing as the rummaging through her things was continuing.

"Where is your first aid kit?! It used to be right up here!" Sherlock grumbled, shutting the cupboard door and leaning on the counter with a huff.

"Oh, um..." Molly tucked some hair behind her ears and thought for a moment. "I think I know where it is. Just a second."

She hurried to the loo and came back with the box in no time. "Sorry. Tom moved it a while ago and I guess I just never put it back where it was before." Molly paused and peered at him in the dim lighting. "What do you need the kit for?"

"It's nothing. You can leave it to me." But he took a step forward and when the moonlight hit him through the window, Molly could see the cut on the side of his face.

"Oh, that's awful! Why don't you let me help?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Molly. I've cleaned myself up before," he said at lightening speed, stepping back again almost defensively.

Molly set her lips tightly together and walked over to switch the kitchen light on. He winced at the brightness as she came back and took a seat at her little table. "Come here," she said gently. "Let me fix it."

He hesitated for a moment, but finally resigned himself to sit. He shrugged off his coat and dutifully scooted the chair over closer to her as she was opening the kit and taking out some supplies.

"What happened? John punch you again?" Molly attempted an ice breaker.

"It's just a scrape," Sherlock said dismissively. "The fault of a brick wall. I was pushed...and no, it wasn't John." He cracked a smile.

Molly leaned forward and began cleaning the skin. He didn't even blink. Gone were the days when she would nervously warn him that this was going to sting. By now she knew that he never reacted. It was unnerving sometimes. She wished he would flinch, grimace, emit a groan of pain...anything. Just to show her he felt something. But no. He always seemed so unwilling to do that, even in these moments.

"I apologize for coming back."

His words made her brow furrow in confusion. "What? Why are you sorry?"

She saw him swallow before he went on. "I had planned to stop coming here. I made that decision after I came back from being dead."

"Oh," she breathed out. "You mean...because of Tom?"

Sherlock licked his lips. "That was part of it, yes."

Molly wondered if she should even ask, but she'd always been a fool when it came to this man. Why stop now? "And what was the other part?" she asked, slowly and carefully as if stepping on egg shells.

He looked her straight in the eyes. "Me."

Molly nodded and then quickly looked away, getting some antibacterial ointment from the kit and busying herself with opening it, trying not to focus on the fact that Sherlock Holmes was pushing her away once again. She should probably be used to it by now. Stupid stupid...

"I couldn't keep coming here," he added. "And kissing you like that."

Molly's gaze locked onto his again and she stared at him wide eyed. Dear God, was he actually speaking of this out loud? She had concluded long ago that this was something he'd never actually discuss, despite the fact that it did happen...multiple times. Well, eight times, if she were honest with herself and admitted to having kept track. And that included the kiss before he left after his faked suicide.

All those eight delicious incidents were within the six months before his "death." And she quickly concluded that he was doing it for her; some little token of appreciation every time she'd help him. As if he'd decided that this was what would keep her happy. They were relatively tame kisses, though always on the mouth, and always on his way out the door. He might give her a small accompanying smile as he pulled away, but there was limited emotion involved. And of course there was the fact that he never once acknowledged or spoke of it at any other time. The only time it didn't feel like a dream was the very moments that his lips were pressed against hers.

And then there was kiss number eight, before he left. That one blew all the others away. The others were sweet, brief, and conveyed gratitude. That last one was all consuming, lingering, and passionate. It left her reeling, and in the moment she even briefly wondered if they were about to be heading down the hall to her room instead of him heading out the door to disapear. But no, he still pulled away and said nothing more than a fond goodbye. She could only conclude that this was yet another token of his appreciation. She'd done him a rather large favor...which apparently merited a rather hefty thanks.

"It was selfish of me," Sherlock clarified, causing her to look even more shocked than before.

"S-selfish?" Molly questioned. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock looked a little uncomfortable, his gaze shifting away from her for a moment. "I believe I'm using the word selfish correctly. Doing something for the benefit of yourself and not taking anyone else's feelings into consideration...I'm fairly sure that fits."

Molly's jaw dropped for a moment, and then she gripped her bottom lip between her teeth as she processed what he was say. "Sorry, I just um, I always assumed that was some sort of...I thought you did it for me. Like, saying thank you."

Sherlock snorted out a laugh. "I did it because I felt like kissing you, and I selfishly continued doing so because I wanted to, giving little or no thought to how you felt about the ritual and never planning to take it anywhere beyond exactly what it was. I was pretty sure you enjoyed the actual kissing, and that was as far as my concern for you went." He halted there and looked away, his voice dropping lower. "That is, till shortly before I left. Bit late then."

Molly was dumbstruck. She'd honestly never considered the possibility that Sherlock just...wanted her. Now what? She had no idea how to respond. Should she be angry for the fact that he was using her lips as well as her flat for all those months? Should she say she was just glad to know he actually enjoyed those brief intimate moments? Both those extremes, and everything in between, crossed her mind. What did come out of her mouth was hardly planned, more of a knee jerk reaction.

"You're still being selfish," she whispered, while quickly smearing some of the ointment on his raw scape with her shaky fingers.

It was then Sherlock's expression that twisted in confusion. "Why? Because I'm no longer using you without your consent? Because I made a conscious decision not to toy with your feelings anymore?"

Molly didn't answer right away. But she kept looking at him as she gathered and crumpled up the trash, and then shut the first aid kit with a loud click. She shoved it aside and leaned forward on the table.

"You're selfish because you're still not thinking of me. You're still trying to decide what's best for me...without asking." She spoke the words slowly, watching him take it all in as she did. "And I think you're afraid."

He did look afraid as he stared back at her, lips parted slightly and pupils blown wide. Well, either afraid or...

"What exactly am I afraid of?" he asked in a low rumble.

Molly's voice was a strange mix of confidence and pain. "Me," she answered, followed by a tight smile. "You're afraid to ask me what I want."

Sherlock opened his mouth for a split second, but then closed it again and stood up. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. "I should go."

He started for the door, but Molly would not be pushed aside again tonight. She was done tip toeing around and being cautious. So she followed him, and refused to make this easy.

"We're not done, Sherlock. If you really don't want to be selfish then turn around and act as if you care about what I actually want!"

Sherlock whirled around as he reached her door and dropped his coat on the floor as he raised his voice in answer to match hers. "I know what you want, Molly! And I can't give you that! I can't give you everything, because I'm not like that! I'm not John, or Lestrade, and I'm certainly not Tom!"

"Good!" Molly spat back. "That's not what I want! I don't want them, or anyone like them! In case you haven't been paying attention, I want you! And I know what that means, you idiot!" She took a breath and let it out before continuing, trying to calm herself a little. "It means I won't know what to expect. Maybe sometimes you'll ignore me for days. Or maybe you'll be a jerk and ask me to stick my neck out for you just because you don't feel like doing something for yourself. You might forget important things because to you they were trivial and boring. And without meaning to, sometimes you'll make me feel small." Her voice cracked and it broke the word 'small' as she stepped closer to him and went on.

"But I still want you," she whispered. "I want whatever you do have to give me...whatever you want to give me. And if that includes kissing me sometimes, well then you can be sure that I want that too."

Molly watched as he let out a breath he'd been holding in, and she saw his shoulders drop as if a weight had just rolled off. He reached out and cradled her face, or more like her whole head, with one hand.

"Are you sure, Molly?" he asked, and she nodded. But he wasn't satisfied and asked again, now more fiercely. "No, are you really sure?! I need you to tell me!"

"I'm sure, Sherlock," she said firmly, and smiled too. "I mean it."

He drew a shaky breath. "Good...because now I really want kiss you."

Molly was about to gasp out something like, 'then why are we still talking?' But she didn't even have the time. A second later, his mouth had locked onto hers and he'd spun them around, backing her against the door with a loud thud. It wasn't till their mouths were finally reunited that she could fully comprehend the sort of restraint he had been exercising up to this point. If this was what he really wanted all this time; to kiss her, taste her, hold her like this, and with this level of fire...then he really was being selfless. And it made her want him all the more.

He finally pulled away just a fraction of an inch, both of them still close enough to share the same air and clinging to each other so tight it almost hurt. "You did what you said," he managed through heaving breaths, resting his forehead against hers. "You always do."

"What did I do?" Molly asked, but impatiently reached for his lips again without waiting for an answer.

Sherlock kissed her again, and again, also unwilling to stop even long enough to speak a few more words. But he did force himself to separate their mouths for just a moment, just so he could whisper it to her.

"You fixed it."


End file.
